I’m gonna be real with you guys…I was a serious asshole in school.
And I don’t mean like I skipped out on homework or hung out in the halls without a pass…
I mean, I was a hyper little fucker that could NOT keep my two cheeks in a chair and listen to a teacher’s spiel for 10 minutes, and if you were a substitute…well, I made you my bitch.
That was in 7th grade.
And you’re probably thinking, “Well, nothing a good whack on the ass couldn’t fix.”
Oh, the whacks were distributed. A lot. Pretty sure my ass grew immune to them and my mother quickly figured that out as well.
So, she sat me down and said, “Trey, if you can’t behave in school…I am going to come WITH YOU to every single class, for the entire day, until you can act right.”
Of course at the time, I had to pretend I was scared shitless…but I knew she wasn’t coming to school with me. Mom had mom shit to do!! She had a job to go to and a family to take care of. That meant cooking dinner, folding laundry, and raising 2 other kids…she didn’t have time to follow my ass around the school.
That next week, I came home with a list full of disciplinary reports from all of my teachers and I found out first hand…
Mom wasn’t fucking around.
Yeah, shit got serious real quick.
The following day, I walked into my first period class and not even two steps behind me was my mother. My peers were a bit confused about the situation, but the teacher…guys, the teacher must have shit her mind when she saw mom walk in and damn near bear-hugged her. This was like Christmas morning for my teacher, who was about to enjoy the sweet satisfaction of teaching a class that didn’t include my shenanigans.
This was just the beginning…
Every teacher got word that Mrs. B was in school and that bastard of a child, Trey, was serving his time.
And I did. I couldn’t escape her.
For lunch, I was able to chill with my friends and play it off like, “Oh mom is just doing some research for grad school and has to observe in a classroom…no biggie.” (Great cover-up.)
Afterward, the bell rang and I saw my window of opportunity to hang on to a shred of my 7th grade dignity, so…
I took off. I bolted and ran to my next class. I was sure I had lost her and she had no idea where to find me.
And at that very moment, I learned that my mother had this hidden super fucking power to sprint like a god damn Olympic sprinter from Kenya, just stiff-arming the shit out of kids and clothes-lining the grown ups to clear a path and get right back in my pitiful little shadow.
My friends knew. Mom wasn’t there for some bogus grad-school research.
She wasn’t fucking around.
The rest of the day, I waffled between refusing to acknowledge that it was the single most embarrassing day of my life and total surrender. I’d been taught.
Even though I thought it was a day of eternal torture, the school day did finally end. We headed back home, mom seeming sufficiently pleased with her handiwork, clearly having taught me the lesson she intended to. So she turned her attention to other obligatory Mom-ery.
Me? 13 years and I’d never been made a chump like that. I stewed in my room. I needed my groove back. I needed a plan. I needed some me time…
So. I toasted up a couple of Pop Tarts and stole my sisters car.
Man, it feels good to be a gangster.